Hiya so I have decided to continue with 'maybe this time' because I think I can add it into a story about the Salvatore brothers I've wanted to tell for ages. So I hope you guys like, I don't own anything blah de blah. Sorry sorry sorry for the delay I'm a terrible updater!

Paris 1950

He could have stopped her when she invited him into her room. But as Aimee Harman was about to discover seducing someone with no morals was only too easy. Damon had no qualms about going into her bedroom for a drink. He didn't even seem to contemplate all the possible slurs on the word drink even for his own amusement. Champagne poured the same colour of her gleaming dress and Aimee sat herself down on her velour dressing stool. Damon flung himself backwards onto her bed.

'I suppose tradition demands a toast to the happy couple.' 'Well yes…' Damon quickly downed his glass and gazed back up at her wearing his innocent yet devilish expression. 'This of course, is exactly why you're not going to do it.' Aimee sighed, turned away from him and lit a cigarette. She leaned back against the table smoking steadily. 'One moment' she said 'I'm rather hot.' And in Damon's eye line she stood and began to pull the champagne purple silk over her head.

Shedding yet another layer between them: slip, stocking, underwear and skin.

Sanity, sacrament, purity and passion.

Except now Damon's eyes were widened with lust. But he watched her silently not a word, not a joke about how a spoken for women ought not to remove her clothes in his presence. Aimee was glad he remained silent; when he acted she wanted it to be quick and sudden. Being eighteen years old, she would have liked to have thought the look in his eyes was for her. A vision of translucent white skin, long legs, and green silver eyes and ravens hair. But she knew it wasn't. Aimee yawned and watched his eye line follow up her swan neck. Then almost two elegantly her cigarette slipped through her lips and she bent, swan neck diving to pick it up.

And felt the electric touch of Damon's kiss at the back off her neck and then Damon's lips at her throat. Hairpins, clothing, purity and whatever purity Aimee claimed to still cling to gave way to passion.

And at that crucial moment when she couldn't tell if they were two bodies anymore. One of her half open almond shaped eyes met a green gold one through the crack in the door. But she missed the large brown eye beneath starry lashes, a pair of eyes that would haunt her dreams for the rest of her life.

Aimee didn't wake up alone the next day. She left Damon in bed and got up to look down at her body she had lost in the last few months an appalling amount of weight breathing sent ripple down her ribs. She shuddered then a cracked laugh escaped her lips, whoever had said love made you beautiful had been mad. Aimee gave a quick glance back at Damon who lay there still asleep. Then silently crept towards the door, she leant against the polished door and breathed in the heavy scent of smoke and Chanel. ' dite.' She whispered. 'Is it done?' a flat voice asked in French from the other side of the door. 'Yes.' The woman sighed. 'So you're dancing with the devil.' 'It's easier than with him on my back.' Aimee replied. And quietly turned back to the bed, curled herself back up into Damon's arms and closed her eyes against his chest.

Present day…

Damon took a swig of vodka and grimaced very slightly at the unflavoured alcohol. Which in his opinion, tasted like hand gel with a dash of nail vanish, how humans could settle for this when right at this moment pumping through there veins was liquid ambrosia… He'd never know, speaking of which…

The vodka shot had reactivated the angry dry burning in his throat. And sitting across the bar from him was a very pretty blonde with a long white neck. Her skin was the kind he liked best translucent, allowing him to trace along the shadowy lavender veins. He would do it with a finger nail at first then with his lips and then with a fang. Damon shook himself out his fantasy, but God hadn't seen a neck that desirable since, since.

Fuck… He muttered the swearword out loud. He'd thought of her, strawberry gold hair and big kitten eyes. Bonnie McCullough had been missing for two years now.

And he had spent the last two years training himself to be glad. With Bonnie gone there were no more distractions from the ultimate prize Elena. There had been no more accidental kisses, fuzzy nicknames or anything that could deter from his love or desire for Elena. That's what he had been telling himself for two years and that's what he told himself now. As he looked up to meet the blondes flushed gaze with a 1000 kilowatt smile.

All the same Damon needed a drink a proper one, away from this Morden bar with its pulsy mood lighting. He called the Bar tender over, 'Get a glass of red wine.' Just to get her in the mood he thought 'for the girl over there from me. Oh and don't tell her this but it's on the the house. He waited his eyes modestly lowered until he heard the girl's flattered stunning figure for a flapper dress…'

He woke in a haze, his eyes half open and gazed at the body next to him. Feathery dark hair rising and falling with each breath, She was lying on her stomach completely naked but for the sheet that was draped from her hips to her calves. He watched and watched until slowly realisation dawned on him. They were in Elena's room. Fuck fuck fuck! She was going to kill him.

He took a closer look at the sleeping girl. And wished he hadn't, because as mad as impulsive as free as Damon was he had never ever ever gone to bed with a dead person a really dead person. Like the girl lying next to him. He grabbed hold of her shoulder and began to shake her awake 'Wake up' wake up! A pair of emerald green eyes snapped open and lazily blinked. 'Aimee.' He breathed 'No it can't be you… her she's dead.' 'Hello Damon.' The girl yawned and her lips stretched into a lazy smile 'You look like you've seen a ghost babe.' For a moment they gazed at each other Damon with astonishment and Aimee with a mocking expression on her face. Laughter, Elena laughter began to fill the corridor. Suddenly, before he had time to react, to throw both Aimee and himself out a window. His little brother, Elena and Mutt living up to his name stake by tagging along a little way behind licking there heels came crashing into Elena's room.

Time seemed to stop he should have a innuendo, a joke, a wordplay something! But Damon's mouth felt dry. 'Well…' He began trying to look anywhere but Elena's disappointed gaze, Mutts furious glare and Stefan's disappointed sigh that seemed to take up the whole of his face. Then out the corner of his eye he saw Stefan flinch recognition overtaking his face. 'Aimee? Aimee Harman?'

Please review! I have no idea how this is going to go down so review and I'll try and make it better,